El viejo entreabrió los ojos y la imagen de la mujer fue aclarándose poco a poco y trató de esbozar una sonrisa, pero su rostro permaneció inalterable.
—Hija, has llegado, tenía tiempo sin verte.
—Papá, no es momento para recordar.
—¿Y mi nieto? Siempre lo recuerdo y más ahora que estoy tirado en esta cama; lo veo, hija tu sabes de esa vida que teníamos en la casa de tu abuela, nos íbamos a jugar con los cerdos, yo era uno más de esos animalitos, él se reía, porque nos encharcábamos, su risa era única, era un viaje que siempre disfrutábamos, sobre todo, cuando jugábamos agarrando barro para pintarnos la cara, éramos de la tribu de la cara sucia.
—Papá, tuve que llevármelo, además sabias que no me gustaba esa suciedad en su cara...
—También porque tu mamá murió y tú no querías que yo lo malcriara, ya no lo voy a hacer, ya no es posible…
—Papá, yo...
—¿Dónde está?
—¡Rosa, trae a Ronny!

El viejo cerró los ojos y ahí estaba de nuevo en aquella pequeña granja, pero esta vez no tenía la misma fuerza, iba con pasos muy lentos, el niño corría tras uno de los puercos, cuando casi lo agarraba, cayó en uno de los charcos y toda su cara se llenó de barro, él lo levantó en medio de las risas y le dijo que pasara sus manos por su cara para ser de nuevo dos caras sucias y así podían entrar a ese mundo que ellos habían construido para guardar sus sueños.
—¡Abuelo, aquí estoy!
—¡Papá!
El sintió sus manos, igual que cuando untaba barro en su cara y sonrió, ahí supo que ya podía volar, su nieto le daba alas, ahora era un pájaro, uno grande que agarraba a su nieto entre sus patas y lo dejaba entre las nubes para que viera como levantaba su vuelo.
—Abuelo, ¿Todavía eres de la cara sucia?
Su hija aguantó el llanto y dejó que el niño siguiera untando barro en la cara de su abuelo mientras él ya volaba muy alto, ya el niño no escuchaba sus graznidos, ni podía verlo, las nubes cubrían sus ojos.

The old man half-opened his eyes and the image of the woman gradually became clearer and he tried to smile, but her face remained unchanged.

—Daughter, you've arrived, I haven't seen you for a long time.
—Dad, this is no time for reminiscing.

—What about my grandson? I always remember him and even more now that I'm lying on this bed; I see him, the daughter you know about that life we had at your grandmother's house, we would go to play with the pigs, I was one of those little animals, he would laugh because we would get wet, his laughter was unique, it was a trip we always enjoyed, especially when we would play grabbing mud to paint our faces, we were from the dirty face tribe.

—Dad, I had to take him with me, besides, you knew I didn't like that dirt on his face...
—Also because your mother died and you didn't want me to spoil him, I'm not going to do it anymore, it's not possible...
—Dad, I...
—Where is he?
—Rosa, get Ronny!

The old man closed his eyes and there he was again on that small farm, but this time he didn't have the same strength, he went with very slow steps, the boy was running after one of the pigs when he almost caught him, he fell in one of the puddles and all his face was full of mud, he picked him up in the middle of the laughter and told him to pass his hands over his face to be two dirty faces again and so they could enter that world they had built to keep their dreams.

—Grandpa, here I am!
—Papa! -said his daughter.
He felt his hands, just like when he smeared mud on his face and smiled, there he knew he could fly, his grandson gave him wings, now he was a bird, a big one that grabbed his grandson between his legs and left him among the clouds so he could see how he took flight.

Grandfather, are you still dirty-faced?

His daughter held back her tears and let the boy continue to smear mud on his grandfather's face while he flew high above, the boy could no longer hear his squawks, nor could he see him, the clouds covered his eyes.